Lost
by Niobium
Summary: Nynaeve is dead, and Lan is spiraling into a world of darkness and despair. To what lengths is he willing to go to avenge his Mashiara? Rating may go up in later chapters.
1. Default Chapter

What if Lan had been too late to save Nynaeve from Moghedien? Personally, I love Lan and Nynaeve and the aspects of their relationship. However, I do not feel that there has been an opportunity to see events through Lan's eyes. I do not own any of the characters. They belong to Robert Jordan. The opening is taken straight from A Crown of Thorns, as well as several comments. There will be more later if the reviews are favorable. If not, it was worth a shot.  
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"Suddenly she felt weaves of saidar almost atop of her in huge amounts, and... She floundered in salty water over her head, flailing upward to find air, tangled in her skirts, flailing. Her head broke the surface, and she grasped for breath amid floating cushions, staring in astonishment. After a moment, she recognized the floating shape above her as one of the cabin seats and a bit of the cabin wall. She was inside a trapped pocket of air. Not large; she could have touched both sides without stretching her arms out fully. But how.? An audible thud announced the bottom of the river; the upside down cabin, lurched, tilted. She thought the air pocket shrank a little...  
  
Saidar flowed into her, filled her. She was only half-aware of the wood above her suddenly bulging outward, bursting. In rushing bubbles of air she drifted up, out through the hull into the darkness."  
  
Her lungs strained painfully in her chest, aching for air. Her limbs flailed uselessly, her body slowly sinking towards the muck of the riverbed. She felt something tugging at her dress. Fear sparked some memory deep in the recess of her mind. She should do something. Fight somehow, but she found herself drifting into the darkness. It was so cold. "Oh light Lan, I'm sorry." But even as the words formed in her mind they seemed to slip from her grasp, into the cold, into the darkness.  
  
Her head broke the surface, and hands encircled her waist. A hand cupped her chin and she was being towed. She was lifted, rough hands pushing from beneath. Two men reached down from a ship, lifting her gently. Her body hung limp in their arms. They laid her on the deck as one of the men returned to the side of the boat.  
  
"My lord is all right? My lord was down for a very long time."  
  
"Forget me, man," said a deep voice. "Get something to wrap around the lady." Lan crossed the deck quickly, not running, but long strides moving hurriedly.  
  
"My lord," said the second man hesitantly. "I fear the lady may not need a blanket."  
  
Lan dropped to his knees beside Nynaeve. She still had not stirred. He grabbed her by the shoulders pulling her towards him. Her head fell limply to the side. He lifted her head, placing her lips near his cheek. Her skin was so cold. He couldn't feel her breath. He stared at her unmoving chest.  
  
"Nynaeve, breathe." He said, shaking her hard. "Breathe." His voice was quiet but for the first time he could remember Lan felt panic. Pure terror threatened to strangle him. His chest was tight, his body numb.  
  
"Nynaeve breathe!" He laid her quickly but gently on the deck. He knew a fare share of field medicine but it had been unnecessary while traveling with Moraine. He parted Nynaeve's lips with his fingers. He felt the panic rising again when he saw how blue they were. He pressed his lips to hers and breathed slowly but forcefully. He felt her chest rise as he breathed for her. "Please Nynaeve. Please breathe!" He pleaded with her. He pressed his lips to hers again and exhaled. She was so cold.  
  
He stared at her. He had never realized how small and fragile she was before. She was so pale. He breathed again for her, but still she did not move. If he could keep her alive until they reached the Tarasin palace a Sister could heal her. The thought was now frantic in his mind. He tried to find the void, just as he had described it to the al'Thor boy so long ago, but the fear was too strong. Just get her to a Sister and all would be well.  
  
He shook her again, this time much harder. "Nynaeve, don't leave me!" He was unable to keep the panic from his voice. "Please wake up!" He kept shaking her. He felt the tears welling in his eyes but he did not care.  
  
One of the crewmen grabbed him hard. "Let her go man. She is gone." Lan's eyes flared, cold as ice, but at the same time hot as fire. The man stepped back from that gaze.  
  
"She is not gone." His voice was quiet again, but it was this quiet that spoke to the danger that Lan posed. Nynaeve had called him a half tame wolf. There was nothing tame about him now. There was no control. "Get us to shore."  
  
Lan sat unmoving, holding Nynaeve tightly in his arms. When the boat was safely docked, Lan gently gathered her up. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and in one smooth motion rose to his feet. Her body lay lifelessly in his arms.  
  
He carried her that way through the muddy streets. Passerby's dodged quickly from his path, his cold eyes seeing nothing but the palace up ahead. The spires rising up in the distance were his beacon of hope.  
  
He walked through the large front doors into the marble entranceway. A liveried servant stopped midway through a sweeping curtsy once her eyes fell on Nynaeve. "Take me to the Aes Sedai at once." Lan said. His voice was flat and even but his eyes pinned the woman to the wall.  
  
She was an older woman, gray staining the dark bun that held her hair in place. She had a motherly face and under normal circumstances was quick to smile. She was a woman who knew her job and the palace well. She had served the queen for most of her life and there was little that went on in the palace that she did not know of.  
  
"I am sorry my lord." Her voice trembled. Before her stood a man on the brink of violence. This man who moved with a deadly grace that she had never seen before in the myriad of soldiers that traveled through the palace, was staring at her with those cold dead eyes. She felt her hands smoothing skirts that did not need smoothing. "Elayne Sedai led the sisters into the Rahad this morning. I do not know when they will return."  
  
She had expected this man to rage out at her, to yell or to strike at her with the sword he wore at his hip. What she did not expect was to see him sag. His shoulders sank. The stony planes of his face seemed to melt. He had been able to hold out hope. He knew that Aes Sedai could not heal death, but somehow he believed that if he got Nynaeve here, that she would be all right. He had to believe that. Now there was no hope. There were no sisters here to heal her, no one to bring her back.  
  
"Take me to Elayne Sedai's room." He was silent as he followed the maid through the maze of hallways and stairs that led to Elayne's room. The servants seemed to be able to sense something in the air for they all steered away from the strange procession.  
  
The maid pushed open the door to expose a room bathed in shadows. She hurriedly lit the lamps that sat to either side of the bed before turning to exit. "See that Elayne Sedai is sent to me immediately upon her arrival." Lan said crossing the room. He did not acknowledge the maids curtsy, he focused entirely on the woman in his arms.  
  
Perched on the side of the bed he pulled Nynaeve closer to his chest. She was so small and cold. He stared into her face. Her hair stuck out in places where it had come free from her braid and her lips were still blue. Her face was deathly white. Even still she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He rocked her slowly back and forth. His Mashiara. He cursed the day he had ever helped her leave the Two Rivers. He had promised to protect her. He was supposed to keep her safe. It was not supposed to be this way. ...............................  
  
Elayne ran down the halls towards her room, Birgette and Aviendha flanking her. One of the Kin followed closely behind. Elayne thought her name might be Sumeko but she was not sure. There were no Yellows in the palace and Elayne was not deluded enough to think that she could heal more than a bruise. Nynaeve was hurt badly, that much she was sure of. The maid had spoken urgently. A dangerous looking man with a face of stone had come storming into the palace, soaking wet. That had to be Lan. He was carrying a woman in a green gown, and her dark braid had hung down, dangling along the floor. The braid had named her Nynaeve even if Lan's appearance had not.  
  
She pushed open the door hard, letting it bang against the wall. She heard someone cry out, but it took her a moment to realize that the cry had left her own throat.  
  
Lan was sitting on the bed across from her, back straight, eyes staring straight ahead, Nynaeve nestled in his arms. His hair was matted to his face. A puddle had formed around his feet, staining the carpet. He was holding onto Nynaeve so tightly, veins stood out on the back of his hands and up his forearms. He had not moved an inch since the maid had left him.  
  
Nynaeve's chin had fallen to her chest. Her lips were slightly parted, and her skin as pale as the bed linens but with a sickly gray hew. Her left arm had escaped Lan's grip and hung as limply to her side as her dripping braid.  
  
Lan rose slowly but gracefully to his feet. "She is dead." The words seemed to echo in the silence that had fallen over the room. Elayne felt tears cascading down her cheeks and she wrapped herself in Birgette's welcome embrace. Birgette did not cry, but Elayne felt the tremor that racked the woman's spine.  
  
Aviendha stepped forward. To the Aiel, death was as natural as life. As a Maiden of the Spear, Aviendha had courted death herself in the harsh Waste. She had come to see Nynaeve as a spear maiden of sorts, fighting a personal war against the shadow, hunting the Black Ajah. A maiden knew the risks, and yet proudly danced the spears.  
  
"You are dripping al'Lan Mandragoran. You should change." Aviendha said reaching towards him, slowly, as she would a wounded animal. "We will tend to Nynaeve al'Mera."  
  
Lan took a jerking step backwards, pulling the body more tightly to his chest. His head swerved from side to side, taking in each woman by turn. His eyes blazed like blue flames. "It was balefire. Her boat..it was ahead of me by fifty paces at least. Then it was fifty paces behind us, sinking." I was too late. The light burn me, I should have been there.  
  
Elayne's head jerked up at the mention of balefire. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her strawberry curls in disarray. "Moghedien." She gasped. It could have been a member of the Black Ajah, or any one of the Forsaken, but she knew. It had been Moghedien. There was a hatred there that Elayne had never understood, and that hatred had only grown while they held Moghedien captive.  
  
"Moghedien." Lan repeated. "Are you sure?"  
  
"As sure as I can be without having seen the flows." Elayne wanted the words back even as they left her lips. Something seemed to shift in Lan. His eyes still blazed but something changed. His back stiffened, and the stony planes of his face seemed to harden.  
  
"Then I will find her. She will pay. I will see to that." .............................. 


	2. The Long Road to Nowhere

Mandarb's hooves sent clouds of dust into the air as he galloped down the road. If Lan did not know his destination, his speed did nothing to suggest it. His mind ran along side the horse, faster and faster, away from the Two Rivers, away from Nynaeve.  
  
Last night had been the longest of his life. He had left the women in Elayne's chambers to plan for the morning. None had wanted the task of delivering the news to Egwene, but in the end, it was decided that it should be Elayne that would travel to Tel'aran'rhiod to meet with the Amyrlin. While Nynaeve had been a close friend to all, she was also Aes Sedai, a position that would be treated with respect. Horses had been readied for travel at sunrise and there were supplies to be gathered.  
  
Lan sat in Queen Tylin's private garden. Surprisingly, it had been Mat who had seen to this arrangement. His clothes were only damp now, but the night's breeze chilled him to the bone.  
  
Cold. He wanted to drink it in. He wanted to become a part of it. He wanted to be as cold as Nynaeve was, to let his breathing and heartbeat slow. He wanted to just lie down beside her and let sleep take him. His Mashiara. Only now she really was lost.  
  
They had traveled to the Two Rivers at first light, a group like had never before been seen in those parts. Egwene and Elayne rode side by side. Egwene's hair fell in dark waves down her shoulders over her seven-striped stole. Elayne wore a dress fitting of royalty, her strawberry hair in rings beneath the rose coronet of the daughter heir.  
  
There had been five Aes Sedai in the palace at the time, and they rode behind the Amyrlin. Each wore a shall fringed with the color of their Ajah and the flame of Tar Valon embroidered on the back.  
  
Aviendha looked every bit the Wise Woman. She too had a shall looped loosely over her shoulders covering her white blouse. She rode stiffly and a bit cautious if not badly. Both she and Birgette scanned the surroundings continually for signs of attack.  
  
Mat had been unable to convince Tylin the necessity of his return home without her, so she rode at his side complete with the full guard necessary to escort a queen. He slouched in his saddle. Those around him saw this as a sign of grief, not of the embarrassment he felt. With the news of the Queen's plans, the Red Arms had also seen need to provide an escort, Olver in tow.  
  
Even Thom had insisted on coming. He said he felt an obligation to see the girl home. His eyes had misted over as he spoke but he covered it quickly with a snuff of his long white moustache. Now he rode with his gleeman's cloak flapping in the breeze, his flute and harp securely attached to the saddle.  
  
Lan rode at the point, for once his eyes stared straight ahead at his destination. He had no fear of attack. Fear was not the right word. He had no care of an attack. Nynaeve was lost. That was all that mattered.  
  
As anxious as both Mat and Egwene were to see home again, the column broke free of the road before the town came into view. They had to see to Nynaeve first. Egwene had spent the night thinking of the proper way to carry this out. Nynaeve's mother had died while she was still a child, and then her father several years later. She would have to tell the Women's Circle of course. This should be done before she went to see her family. She still hadn't decided what to do about the Village Council. Technically, finding a Wisdom was the Women's Circle's business, but this was Nynaeve.  
  
If they had ridden within sight of Edmond's Field they would have seen the changes. The trees were now cleared for several miles around the edge. A ring of pikes fenced in the village, where lookouts were posted on rooftops. The strangest thing they would have seen was a banner of a red and white, a wolf guarding the village green. They would have seen these things and known of the danger, but they broke free of the road and headed south.  
  
Egwene had chosen the spot. They wound their way into a small clearing just south of the village. She had come here often when she had seen a different path for her future. As an apprentice to the wisdom she had come to pick a variety of wild flowers that proved key ingredients for poultices and potions.  
  
The grass was brown now this late in the season, but come springtime it would be lush and green, dotted with flowers of many shades. Tall oaks had left a blanket of leaves on the ground, and a fine layer of mist filled the air that the midmorning sun had yet to bake off. The sound of running water could be heard not too far off, and several birds sang to one another in the trees.  
  
The ceremony was short. Thom played his harp. Egwene felt it was her duty to say something, but her throat was tight, and when she tried to speak her voice cracked and the tears she had been holding back began to fall.  
  
Lan watched as several Red Arms began shoveling dirt into the grave. He could smell the dark and musty aroma of the earth. He breathed it in. He imagined it covering him. He could feel the comforting weight of it on his body, the smell of it filling his nostrils, his throat. He imagined the darkness blanketing his sight with each shovel full of dirt. And the cold. He could feel the cold settle into his skin, his bones, his soul. The cold sank in as he was buried beside her. His Mashiara. His lost love. His Nynaeve.  
  
Now he rode hard and fast, away from the Two Rivers. Even now he could feel the pull of his bond, willing him to return to the Aes Sedai's camp and Myrelle. He could feel her, that tiny bundle of emotions in the back of his head. She was frightened. She would be pacing now, wringing her hands, her brows knotted in concentration.  
  
She was tugging at the bond, as you would do a leash on some errant hound. She was pulling him, urging him to return; yet she could feel the distance between them grow. So now she paced, and he rode on.  
  
Moghedien. How do you hunt the Forsaken? How do you find someone who does not exist? He would see her dead or die trying. He closed his eyes.  
  
His blade slid smoothly into her stomach, and he thrust until her skin met the hilt. He could feel her blood on his hands, warm and wet. And then he twisted the blade, tearing all it touched. Moghedien let out a grunt and a strange gurgling sound left her lips. She dropped to her knees, hands grasping at the blade that pinned her like some strange insect. She stared up into his cold blue eyes. Fear, and the knowledge of her own death filled hers.  
  
Lan had replayed this scene over and over in his mind a hundred times. Sometimes Moghedien would plead for her life. Sometimes she would whimper and cry like a wounded animal. He would smile at these images, a cold heartless smile. A dead smile.  
  
These images came unbidden, not just of Moghedien. Sometimes he would see Nynaeve, her body cold and lifeless. Her hair was sticking up in places where it had come free of her braid. Her lips were blue and slightly parted. She was so pale and fragile.  
  
There were others as well: Nynaeve when she was still the village Wisdom, Nynaeve beside the fire in the blight, Nynaeve in his arms, kissing him passionately. These images made his heart ache until he thought it would burst. So he forced himself to think of Moghedien, of how her blood would feel as it washed over his hands, how she would look up with him with those eyes filled with fear and the knowledge of her own death.  
  
He rode on that way until sunset, stopping only to rest Mandarb. He was forced to set up camp in the growing twilight, or risk injury to the horse. Dinner was cold meat and dry bread, eaten only out of necessity. When sleep came it was fitful, and full of dreams that made him wake in a cold sweat. And so he rose early, as the first hint of gray began to creep into the night sky.  
  
He had ridden this path before in a time that felt a lifetime ago. They had fled into the night, he and Moiraine, in the company of a gleeman, a young girl who was to become the Amyrlin Seat, and three boys, one of whom was the Dragon Reborn. But at that time, a lifetime a go, they were merely four scared travelers, no more than children.  
  
He followed the path that would take him to Taren Ferry, and eventually to Baerlon. She had found them there, at the Stag and Lion. Not much more than a girl herself, she had followed the path he had been so careful to hide. Possessed with a determination he had not seen the likes of before, she had matched the Aes Sedai stare for stare.  
  
The road would then lead to Camelyn, where he had seen the healer in her. Fierce as a warrior she had been, but now gentle too.  
  
If followed long enough, the road would wind north and west into the Borderlands. The Blight was where he had first known that he loved her. Where he had caused her pain. Each tear she had shed had made him curse his soul to the shadow.  
  
So many memories on this path, too many. He jerked the reigns hard to the right, pulling Mandarb off the road. He dug his heels into the horse's flanks, urging him to a gallop. Faster and faster he rode, but how do you outrun a ghost.  
  
He forced himself to focus. He still had no idea how to find Moghedien. He had tried not to think about it until now, but he could run the horse to death, and still be no closer to finding her.  
  
He had faced the Forsaken three times now. Once, at the Eye of the World, Aginor, and Balthamel had been confronted and destroyed. Again, at the Heart of the Stone they had battled and defeated Bel'lal and triumphed. They had faced the Forsaken one other time. Lanfear and Moraine had both been lost then.  
  
They had never before tried to seek out the Forsaken. They had always been the hunted in this game of cat and mouse. He needed to find Moghedien. He needed to make her pay.  
  
Three days past in much the same way. The countryside rushed by in a blur. He replayed each encounter with the Forsaken in his mind. He searched through every detail. He needed to remember every action taken, every word spoken.  
  
Aginor and Balthamel in the Blight. Bel'lal in Tear. Lanfear in Cairhien. Always the Forsaken had found them. How? They had always known where they were. Always they had been there to meet them.  
  
Lan pulled reign so hard that Mandarb reached back and tried to take a bite out of Lan's heels once they had skidded to a stop. The answer was so simple. It had been staring him in the face for all of this time. The Forsaken had always found them. Ta'veren. They had the ability to shape the pattern around them. He had always been with at least one, if not all of the boys when the Forsaken had struck.  
  
He would use the pull of the ta'vern to find Moghedien. But not just any ta'vern. The Dragon Reborn was the greatest of these. Lan had seen the strange occurrences that had followed him. He had seen chance bend itself for him. To find Moghedien, he would need Rand. He started off again at a gallop. 


	3. A New Plan

Authors Note: I have been having trouble writing these next few chapters. Since the beginning I have known where I have wanted to go with the story. But now I feel rushed trying to hurry and get to where I want to be, instead of merely telling the story. I apologize if the chapter still does not feel right. I will probably end up rewriting parts. As always, constructive criticism is welcome, and if you find any proofreading errors let me know.  
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Caemlyn was bustling when Lan rode through the gates. Vendors loudly proffered their wares, and customers haggled aggressively for the best price.  
  
Snow had been falling hard for the last several days, snapping the unnatural heat. Townsfolk had run out into the streets as the first few snowflakes began to fall from the sky. But now, the dirt roads had turned into a thick sludge, trees began to crack from the bitter cold, and still the snow fell.  
  
It had been close to two weeks since that long night. He had made good time at first, until the heavy snow had made traveling difficult. The girls could have brought him here much faster, but he had been rash. Two weeks lost, but he did not consider them wasted. Two weeks had served as a reminder the cost of being rash.  
  
It had also given him a chance to think. Elayne had been so sure that the source of the balefire had been Moghedien. Why? Moghedien had always been a spider, a black widow lurking in the shadows. A bolt of balefire in the middle of the day was not her style, too risky. But Elayne was sure. There was something to that. How could she be so sure? Lan ground his teeth in frustration. Hasty. Too hasty.  
  
Moghedien was cautious, always lurking in the shadows. And yet something had made her willing to risk exposure. Her desire to strike out at Nynaeve had outweighed her desire to remain hidden.  
  
Lan rode past the street that would have taken him to the palace. Rand seemed to be moving between Caemlyn, Illian, and Tear. Lan had chosen Caemlyn for one obvious reason. Elayne. Lan had seen Rand and Elayne in the Heart of the Stone when they had thought they were alone. He knew of Rand's feelings for her. Rand would not leave Caemlyn for long. This was Elayne's city, and Rand would wish to care for it as he did for her.  
  
Lan did not head for the palace. While he knew that Rand would come, he needed to decide on his next move. Moghedien would not be easily found. He needed to draw her out, and he was not sure that the pull of a ta'vern would be enough.  
  
He led Mandarb past the Queen's Blessing. He would be known there. Lan had stayed there before, in that time that felt so long ago. He had followed Moraine to that place. It was there that they had been reunited with Mat Cauthon and Rand al'Thor. He could not stay there now.  
  
The Horse and Buggy was smaller than the Queen's Blessing, but it was clean. The innkeeper was a round man. A shock of white hair capped his round head, which sat upon his round body. His green eyes twinkled from beneath his bushy white eyebrows that were nearly as white as his freshly bleached apron. While his words were formal, he spoke as if to an old friend, his tone warm and welcoming.  
  
"Welcome to the Horse and Buggy my Lord. I am afraid that all of my best rooms are taken. Caemlyn has seen many travelers lately, what with the troubles up north and all. And of course there are those who come hoping to catch a glimpse of the Lord Dragon. That not withstanding, all of my rooms are well tended, and I am sure that we can find something to your liking."  
  
"You may call me Master Andra my good sir." Lan replied, allowing himself to be led through the common room. "And I am sure that the room will be fine."  
  
As soon as the door had shut behind him, Lan crossed to the window to survey the streets below. He had been careless before. He could not afford to be so now. He needed a plan. His eyes scanned the streets, not really seeing. He needed to be patient.  
  
He spent four days in much the same way, going over what he knew in finite detail. The evenings he spent in the common room, listening. With mug in hand, his ears would strain, searching for the tales that would speak of Rand's return.  
  
The Dragon Reborn, the greatest ta'vern of the age pulled the pattern around him. So Lan listened intently for signs: a man falling from a third story window into the streets below and landing without a scratch, dice games where every toss yielded the same points. He listened and waited.  
  
It was day four when he saw her. He was in his room, gazing out the window as he did everyday, when his eyes came to rest on a young beggar. Slight of build, her face was smeared with layers of dirt and grime. Her dark hair was knotted, her clothes in tatters. She stood on the corner, pieces of cloth tied around her feet as protection from the snow.  
  
He spent the next two days watching her, and thinking. It was risky, and would require a great store of luck. Lan had never been a gambling man. He trusted two things in life, his sword, and his Borderland's skill in using it. He needed a plan, and this was all he had...but was it right?  
  
For two days he sat and watched her. His hands rested lightly on his knees as he perched on the edge of the plainly carved chair. He more closely resembled a cat preparing to pounce than he did a man, so intent was he upon the scene before him.  
  
It was his seventh day in the city when he crossed the street to her, his cloak pulled up against the wind. Her eyes met his when he stopped directly in front of her, and she took a step back from the cold blue stare.  
  
"My lady," Lan said smoothly, "My name is Andra, and I have a business proposition that I would like to discuss with you in private." He shook his pocket lightly, which caused several loose coins jingle merrily.  
  
Her eyebrows had been drawn in confusion, but her face now flashed in anger. "Times have been difficult my Lord, but I am not some piece of meat to be bought an sold. I stand here pleading for help. Not to sell my body." She spun on her heels to leave, but his roaring laughter stopped her.  
  
She turned to face him. The laughter failed to soften his eyes. "No my lady," he said regaining composure. "A true business proposition." She followed him slowly deeper into the alley, into the shadows, her fingers tracing the edge of the knife that rested in her pocket, warily watching him for signs of attack. She had been on the streets long enough to recognize danger, and this man with his cold blue eyes and face of stone was definitely dangerous.  
  
He leaned in close and spoke softly, her eyes growing as wide as saucers. She stared at him for several moments when he had finished speaking. "I will meet you there tomorrow my lord." She replied hesitantly. "At first light."  
  
"Speak of this to no one." Lan's departing words carried him out of the mouth of the alley. He turned a corner quickly and was gone, leaving her to try to slow her heart beat and steady her shaking hands.  
  
There was still much to be done before the morning, and Lan weaved quickly through the crowded streets. He stopped in several shops, gathering the necessary supplies. He anticipated only one difficulty, and that was at the jewelers.  
  
"I am sorry my lord." The jeweler replied cautiously, fiercely wringing his hands together. "It would mean my head to produce such a trinket. Surely there is something else that you would rather have."  
  
Lan's eyes moved slowly across the store, taking in his surroundings. They rested for a moment on the cases before him. Faded blue velvet formed a bed for the shining pieces. His eyes slid towards the back room, registering the fraying curtains. The floorboards below him creaked as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. While the store was sell cared for, all of the signs spoke of better days past.  
  
"Your head it would be then." Lan said, his eyes now on the man before him. "Then what price for your head?" The jeweler's eyes bulged as Lan set his purse on the counter, heavy with coins. The man shifted back and forth between feet, and his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips.  
  
"It will be done within the hour."  
  
Lan spent the long hours of the night pacing from one end of his room to the other. The candlelight flickered, casting strange shadows on the wall. It was a good plan, but dangerous. He could not help but feel that he was still overzealous.  
  
He rode across the town in the early shadows of morning. He took turn after turn, until the buildings that surrounded him began to change. Now the houses where short and squat, more often than not loose rags were all that covered doors and windows. He stopped before the small inn, tying Mandarb to a tree rather than the cracked post. A room here would be free of prying eyes.  
  
At midday she stood before him. Her skin had been scrubbed until it was raw to remove the layers of filth from her body. Her hands moved nervously across her skirt. She was attired in a dress of navy silk, plain enough for traveling but cream embroidery adorned the neck and sleeves. Her dark hair had been washed and brushed, and now hung in a single thick braid that ended just below her waist. A band of gold encircled her left ring finger, a gilded serpent clutching its tail in its jaws.  
  
She fidgeted before him but her voice was steady and calm. "My name then, is to be Nynaeve." 


	4. Leah

The girl stood before him, as his eyes took her in. Leah did closely resemble Nynaeve, although there were several obvious differences.  
  
She was too young for one thing, hardly a day over nineteen. Her hips were a little broader, but they met at a waist that was inches to thin. The girl had known many a day with little or no food.  
  
Her hair, while the proper length was touched with just a hint of red. Her eyes were the color of mahogany, lacking the flecks of green that had so often held Lan captive. Her skin was darker by several shades, indicative of a life out of doors.  
  
He had known every inch of her face to the smallest of detail. He had sat many nights while she slept, studying her silhouette in the moonlight. He had engraved every curve, every contour into his mind walking beside her through the streets. Even now he could smell her scent, some light floral perfume. He could recall the tiny birthmark, hardly more than a freckle that rested on her neck, at the very edge of where her hair met in that thick braid.  
  
He studied this girl, so similar to the one that he had loved. He met her gaze, and all differences seemed to melt away in that knowing stare. He wanted to rush to her, to take her in his arms and try to explain. He would tell her that he should have been there earlier. He would speak of Mandarb's lost shoe, and his flight across the river. He would tell her these things that she might understand how he had come to fail her. He would tell her how cold she had been, how pale and fragile. He would ask for forgiveness, plead it of her. He nearly took a step before he remembered himself. Not Nynaeve. Nynaeve was lost to him, and all that was left was vengeance.  
  
The girl would deceive no one who had known Nynaeve. Not if they were allowed to come near. But Lan did not intend to fool those she knew. He would rely on whispers and rumors, trickling to the ears of those he sought.  
  
"We have much to cover." Lan said in a voice that was more harsh than necessary. "I will have to find you a horse. Can you ride?"  
  
A small smile flickered across her face. "Well enough to stay in the saddle. Not well enough to win any equestrian competitions." Lan only nodded to this, and quickly continued on.  
  
"I am staying at the Horse and Buggy. I have told the innkeeper that I will be expecting to meet a traveling companion in two days. That is not much time to prepare you. Once there, I have arranged for us to dine in private. Your tutoring will continue for as long as I feel necessary. For now, I need only see that your appearance is appropriate."  
  
It was Leah's turn to nod, her dark brows knitted together in concentration. "You must walk with your head high, back straight. You must be confident." He rapped the bottom of her chin with his palm until it was parallel to the floor, and she nodded again.  
  
"Nynaeve has a stubborn streak. She angers quickly when she feels that others fail to see what is obvious, obvious meaning her way. This happens often. Once angered, she takes her braid in hand, like this," he said lifting her hair, "and tugs it. The angrier she is, the harder she pulls, as if to yank every strand out by root." His eyes dropped to his fist clutching her tresses. He wondered how many times that braid had been throttled in place of his throat. He let the plait fall from his grip.  
  
Leah broke the silence. "This ring, it means that she is one who could channel?" The question was not one that he had expected, and he hesitated before answering.  
  
Lan had traveled long beside Moraine. She had taught him a great deal. One lesson he had learned particularly well: the truth you speak, may not be the truth that they hear. It was a proverb whispered in many a village hearing of the presence of an Aes Sedai. He had told Leah only what he dared. A friend had been killed by a dangerous woman, a dark friend. He wished to see her pay in blood for what she had done. There was no way for this woman to know that she had succeeded in killing his friend, and it was this point that they would use to their advantage. He made no mention of the Forsaken. He danced around the details of Nynaeve's death. He would only allow her to know what was safe for her to know.  
  
"Yes." He said after a short pause. "She was Aes Sedai, of the Yellow Ajah. She was a gifted healer." His eyes seemed to soften for a moment, but he coughed into his balled fist and quickly turned his head.  
  
Leah once again smoothed her skirts. "Then won't they know that I am not she? I cannot, I mean, I am not..." Her eyes flickered between his eyes and her left hand.  
  
"As I have said before, we do not hope to fool those who knew her. Nor do we hope to fool any Aes Sedai." He looked her straight in the eyes. "You know what we face. Those we seek will wish to kill you. As long as we carry out this charade you are in danger. Do you still wish to proceed with the plan?"  
  
Her chin lifted and her eyes blazed. "I do not fear this woman." What she did fear was another night without shelter, another day with no certainty of nourishment. She could remember when her feet had cracked and bled when the rags had no longer been enough protection from the cold. She had watched hunger take the lives of children, seen armed men moving in the shadows, ready to kill for a loaf of bread. "The deal still stands. Two hundred gold coins when your blade is stained red."  
  
"I will leave you for the night. We will begin again in the morning. Sleep well." Lan crossed the room swiftly, leaving her alone to contemplate the day's events. Her quick mind turned over every word spoken, and those that had not been said.  
  
She had been originally too stunned to think. Taken up from the streets into the safety of an inn, even a poor one, she had eaten her fill of bread and meat. Her dry tongue soaked up every drop of mulberry wine.  
  
Once bathed and dressed, she had stood before the mirror as if unsure of her own reflection. Her hands had moved over every inch of silk, her fingers tracing the fine embroidery. The dress was ill fitting, chosen by a man not used to such purchases. The skirt was too long, dragging at her feet. The waist needed to be taken in, while the material strained over her bust. But she stood in front of the mirror as a queen. She felt regal.  
  
Then they had sat in her small room, chairs pulled so close that their knees were almost touching. Her face had paled as he spoke, but her resolve had stiffened. Two hundred gold coins were enough to buy a small plot of land, maybe even a flock of sheep. She had been raised on a farm and was accustomed to hard labor.  
  
Hours later she was alone in her bed chambers. This woman, this Nynaeve, had been an Aes Sedai, able to wield the one power. Leah had never seen an Aes Sedai, but she had heard tales at the foot of a gleeman. Aes Sedai were women who could make the sky rain fire, and make the earth explode at the feet of their enemies. She had been killed by a dangerous woman in such a manner as that her death could not be confirmed. This eliminated the possibility of a knife buried between shoulder blades, or poison in a goblet. She studied the golden ring. Something about channeling seemed to tickle a memory in the back of her mind, but it was gone just as quickly.  
  
She had heard stories of the Dragon Reborn, of men who could channel. These men were fated to go mad and die horrible deaths. But it was not a man. They sought a woman. The Forsaken were bound by the creator, and it was a woman they sought. That eliminated all possibilities of channeling being involved, but still... Her eyes threatened to close as weariness set in. She rubbed them hard and began again.  
  
A dark friend, he had said. A dark friend had been able to kill an Aes Sedai, a woman capable of wielding the one power.  
  
She paced the length of the room to try to focus her thoughts. Six steps brought her from wall to wall. She turned and began the six steps back.  
  
She had never before seen a warder, but this man surely fit the image she had engraved in her mind as a child. He carried a sword as casually as most men carried tools. He was a warder out to avenge the death of his Aes Sedai.  
  
She paced the room many times that night before curling up beneath the covers. She pulled the down comforter up around her shoulders and breathed in the scent of freshly laundered linens. She was no closer to making sense of the day when she let sleep take her.  
  
They spent the second day very much like the first, behind the locked door of her cramped room. Again she paced, but now it was with Lan's watchful eyes upon her. Occasionally he would cross the room to her, making corrections on her posture, or her stride. The distance that had previously been covered in six paces, was now covered in five.  
  
He asked question after question. Now he corrected tone as well as responses. By noon, she found herself tightly gripping her braid in frustration.  
  
"I do not think that I can do this." She said with a sigh, dropping onto the hard wooden chair.  
  
"Nynaeve is too stubborn to quit." Lan said in that irritatingly monotone voice.  
  
Leah cried out. Half scream, half growl, it was a cry of exasperation. Her head fell forward into her hands and she combed her fingers through her dark mane. That voice was what had grated on her nerves all day. He never showed his annoyance. He just watched and adjusted. All day he had rebuked her in that same calm voice. "Do you not see that I am trying? I can not become a different person over night."  
  
"I understand." He replied flatly. This time her cry was more growl than scream. She rose to her feet smoothly and hit him hard in the shoulder with her balled fist.  
  
"You are an irritatingly, aggravating, stubborn wool headed man! You..." His laughter stopped her in mid sentence. It was gruff, and barely seemed to warm his eyes.  
  
"You are making more progress than I thought." He smiled at her as he lightly touched his shoulder.  
  
It was dusk on the third day when she led her chestnut mare through the city to the courtyard of the Horse and Buggy. She sat stiff-backed in the saddle, her hands clutching the reins much more tightly than necessary. Her riding gloves were stretched tight over her knuckles.  
  
A young stable boy rushed out into the evening gloom to assist in her dismount. She smoothed her emerald skirts, and pushed back the hood on her fur-lined cloak. Her golden serpent ring nestled firmly in her belt pouch. Her breath misted in little white clouds as it crossed her lips. The moon was faintly visible above the treetops, a ghostly visage watching over the city.  
  
She refused to let the cold touch her, although it was will power alone that kept her from shivering. Aes Sedai did not feel the cold. Nor did they sweat. She had tried to tell Lan that she was no Aes Sedai, but he had merely replied in that unflappable manner that she had best learn.  
  
In a firm, no nonsense voice she spoke. "I am Mistress Myriam. I believe that Master Andra is expecting me." 


	5. What Darkness Brings

Author's Note: Sorry for taking a while to update. Between midterms, and just school in general, life has been hectic. And even with all of the time that it took to write, I am not sure that I like this chapter. I am open to any suggestions, in fact I could use the help. And if anyone can correct my spelling on Jain Farstrider, I know that it is wrong, but for the life of me I cannot remember what book it was mentioned in.  
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As the sun touched the trees on the horizon the city was ablaze in shades of red and orange. Sunset faded into dusk, and the land was washed of all of its color, as the gray of twilight reigned. Finally, the black of night settled in, covering Caemlyn like a blanket.  
  
In a small room, in an even smaller house beside the Horse and Buggy, a young mother kissed her golden headed babes on their brows, and whispered prayers of safety and words love before blowing out the lamps. She walked slowly down the hall, to her bedroom where she would spend then night wrapped in her husband's arms, his warm breath on the back of her neck.  
  
Across the street, beside an alley where a young girl once slept huddled in the snow sat a squat two story house. Here, a single window was lit, standing guard against the night. A wrinkled and worn woman sat in an equally worn rocking chair, her aged hands moving deftly over her quilting. It was years since her husband had last called her to bed. A sudden fever had taken him just before dawn. Now her young grandchild lay sleeping, curled at her feet, a well loved copy of Jain Farstrider beneath her head. The elderly woman lay down the fabric, and gently carried the child to bed. She smoothed the girl's hair across the pillow, before lying down beside her for the night.  
  
In a cozy room on the second floor of the Horse and Buggy, a young woman slept, her knees pulled to her chest, the blankets held tightly beneath her chin. Her long dark hair fell loose down her back, the long thick braid abandoned and undone for the evening.  
  
All throughout the city, shutters were closed and drapes were drawn. Lan sat facing the window. His right leg crossed his left at the knee, and his right boot was propped against the window sill, where the night's breeze softly rustled the curtains. He watched as the city's candles and lanterns were extinguished, and one by one the lights blinked out, until the entire city surrendered to the darkness.  
  
The whet stone made its hundredth pass over the blade for the night, making a light scraping sound as it progressed over the steel. The blade did not need to be sharpened, but the process had become a nightly ritual for the warder. The stone seemed to whisper as it began its path again.  
  
Night time was the hardest. Sleep was fitful and punctuated by fierce dreams of blood and pain. These dreams would awaken him in a cold sweat, an unspoken cry at his lips. Several days had past since his last attempt at such. Now he sat, and the stone traced the edge of the blade. The action required no thought. His arm moved rhythmically from the hilt to the point. The only sound that of the stone on the blade, whispering words of vengeance.  
  
Days were spent in the private dining room. Leah had been provided with coin for a seamstress, and several fine dresses were soon to be delivered. After two days, her hands had ceased to stray over the fine fabric of the skirts as if to make sure of their continued presence. By the third day it was no longer necessary to tap the underside of her chin. Her eyes would fiercely meet any that challenged her. Her curtsey had been perfected, not the deep sweeping curtsey of a servant, but the slightest decline of the head, and bending at the knees. As Nynaeve had begun life in the country side, little of the language needed altered; instead he was able to focus on names and places necessary for Leah to know.  
  
Once supper had been eaten, Lan would adjourn to the common room below. There he would sit, his eyes in a mug of ale, looking for all of the world as if he heard not a word in the room, when in actuality his ears strained for the slightest rumor of those he sought. Had he been a hound, his ears would have been at point, so intent was he on the surrounding din.  
  
Leah had left the privacy of the inn rarely, but always in his company. A proud woman, finely dressed in the company of an armed man was sure to be noticed. They did not stroll through the streets, but moved as if driven by some urgency. There was no great purpose to these outings other than to be seen. Their stride was a part of the act, one more small touch to ensure remembrance.  
  
The true challenge still lay ahead. He needed to be sure that Moghedien believed that Nynaeve was in Caemlyn. He needed her to come.  
  
It was not only stories of Moghedien that he sought. He listened also for any tale of strange occurrences. Tales of dice games abandoned as all roles yielded crowns, or of mass marriages. Tales of men falling from great heights with no more than a scratch, or women dying from the slightest jolt. These stories would be a sure sign of Rand's presence in Caemlyn, and Lan was not ready for him to arrive. Not yet.  
  
He had forced himself to be patient. But now, he was so close that he nearly trembled. The images had come so often for so long they were nearly reality. His blade was on Moghedien's throat. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her chest heaved. Her eyes darted back and forth. On her knees he made her beg for her life. Plead to be spared. A smile touched his lips. He could feel the heat of the blood spatter on his skin as he pierced her jugular. A sharp bite on the inside of his cheek brought the distinctive coppery flavor. Not his blood. In his mind it became Moghedien's. In his mind he could smell it, that acrid scent characteristic of a blood letting. He could feel it on his hands, both slick and sticky at the same time. Now he really was smiling as the whet stone traveled down the blade, and he carried on his silent vigil for daybreak. 


	6. To Be Aes Sedai

I wanted to thank Watcher Tale Neith, Mystic Weaver, and Squilo Sedai for reviewing that last chapter. I really still don't know how I feel about it. I was trying to use the contrast between all of the cozy scenes around the city to show Lan's state of mind. But I'm not sure that it worked. Squilo Sedai I promise there will be more action in the chapters coming soon.  
  
Also, I want to apologize for taking so long to update. I tend to loose interest in the middle of stories. I could really use a Beta to keep me focused, and to help proof read, I hate re-reading my stuff. If anyone is interested, you know where to find me.  
  
Thanks again. I will try to be better. .............................................................................................................  
  
Leah lay on the top of the comforter. She was on her stomach, her knees bent at a right angle, legs crossed at the ankle, her toes reached for the ceiling. She propped herself up on her elbows. Her dark auburn hair fell loose down her back. As Lan had given her the day off, she wore only her undergarments, her gowns momentarily forgotten in the bureau on the far wall. Her eyes lazily wandered across the page of a faded manuscript borrowed from the innkeeper.  
  
Initially Leah had been thrilled by her change of fortune, but as time wore on, the monotony set in. Every day was the same as the one before. Lan would arrive at her door precisely one hour after then sun had risen. She would stand in the center of the room with him before her, staring. He would then circle her, straightening and adjusting. This small act took a tremendous amount of time. All the while she would stand, fists balled at her sides, wishing that she were a real Aes Sedai . She would teach him that men were merely supposed to admire a woman, only giving wardrobe advice when asked, and always submitting to the woman's keener fashion sense.  
  
When he was completely satisfied that her appearance was appropriate, they would sit down to breakfast which was eaten in silence (mostly by Leah). Lan would again position himself across from her, a slice of buttered bread in hand and watch. Occasionally he would take a distracted bite, absently chewing on the crust.  
  
After their morning meal, he would set in to question her. People, places, events; the words would barely leave her lips before he had begun on the next. There was always another question to answer, always some reason why her response was too slow or incomplete.  
  
Sometimes they would venture out into the city in the afternoon, but somehow Lan managed to sap all of the fun out of these outings as well. Before they would leave, he would sit her down to prepare her, as if each step out of the inn could lead to their downfall. He would only submit to their excursion once he was absolutely certain that she knew where they were to go and by which paths, as well as what words were to be spoken.  
  
Her dream outing had been to see the seamstress. She had been raised by her father and her four older brothers. Even-so she had not escaped the heartache of hand-me-down clothing. Fabric from outgrown shirts and worn pants were trimmed and sewn into dresses. She was good with a needle and thread, and she had never felt pitiful. Never. That was until she had come to the city.  
  
She would watch as fine ladies would parade down the streets. They would exit their carriages in a flash of color as their long silk skirts would swirl in the breeze. Their satin slippers barely seemed to touch the ground beneath their feet. She would watch in the shadows. Her hands would stray across the shabby material of her own garments, wishing that she could be so finely adorned. It was a wish that she would never have spoken aloud. There were far more important things to spend her coins on. But still, in the shadows she wished.  
  
As a Warder, his Aes Sedai's wishes were final, in public. So Lan had made sure that Leah was certain of his wishes before their departure. She was informed that fabrics of blue, green and yellow (quite a bit of yellow to Leah's dismay) would make up the majority of her wardrobe. Red was strictly forbidden as he feared that material may bring out the red in her hair. What did men know about clothing anyway? She had at least managed to sneak in a lovely violet silk.  
  
He had an opinion on everything, and his opinion was final, for the most part. Living with five men had taught her one important lesson: always let the man believe that he is right. Her hair was a perfect example. Flowing loose down her back, it had stirred quite an argument. Lan had insisted that if it was held in a braid at all times, the façade would be more easily maintained. She would be less likely to be caught out of character as it were. So she had agreed quickly, hardly waiting for the door to latch behind him before letting her hands fly to free her tresses.  
  
There was something meaningful in that act of rebellion. It was a reminder of who she was, not Nynaeve, but Leah. He no longer called her by name. In public, she was Myriam, just as Lan was Andra. That was a part of the game, wanting to be noticed while looking like they were trying to remain hidden. In private, she was Nynaeve. Lan never let her forget who she was supposed to be.  
  
A knock at the door startled her into consciousness. She rolled over quickly, slamming her feet onto the floor. Her hands were buried in her hair at once, weaving back and forth without thought. Her eyes darted to the dresser. If she took the time to dress Lan would be angered, and she would incur a lecture on leaving him waiting. If she answered the door in her dressing gown, a different lecture was sure to follow. This one would address her wastefulness of time, time that could be spent reading through the notes that he had compiled for her.  
  
It is my day off! She thought angrily, settling on the dressing gown. Another thing that living with five men had taught her was an abundance of curses, and she mumbled a rather vehement Wagoner's oath under her breath.  
  
She threw open the door with more force than was necessary. It was her day off after all. Her left hand rested on her hip, and her eyes blazed. The face that met her gaze was not the one that she expected. The innkeepers round face was alight with a smile, although it quickly faded as he met her gaze.  
  
"I am sorry Mistress Myriam. I did not mean to interrupt, I..." Leah's upraised hand halted him mid-sentence. Her mood was instantly uplifted.  
  
"You interrupted nothing my good man. Would you care to come in?" She asked opening the door wider, as it had rebounded to leave an opening of little more than a gap. If possible, his face turned a brighter shade of red as he took in her dressing robe. It was her turn to blush. "One moment if you please." The innkeeper nodded violently as she quickly shut the door before her.  
  
After quickly dressing, she returned to her visitor. He stood patiently outside the door, hands clasped behind his back, carefully studying the floorboards beneath his feet. "I am terribly sorry my lady." He quickly began again. And once again he was halted by her raised hand.  
  
"Once again there is nothing to apologize for." She replied, although the slightest hint of red still touched her ears.  
  
"Master Andra had told me to inform him the moment the preparations were finalized. I had checked his room before coming to you. I thought that you would like to know."  
  
"Preparations Master Jordan?" she asked rather quizzically. That infuriating man never told her anything, she thought angrily.  
  
"For the morning my lady. The carriage will arrive shortly after dawn. Master Andra said that they would be expecting you at the palace by midmorning." His eyes grew big at the mention of the palace, and a smile spread slowly across his face. One of his guests, a real lady, would be entertained at the palace of the good Queen Morgase. He still thought of it that way. It was easier than believing stories of another false dragon, or even more frightening, the real Dragon Reborn.  
  
"Very good sir." Leah said with a smile, nodding in dismissal. Master Jordan gave her a bow before turning to leave. He hardly noticed the door closing on his heels.  
  
The palace! She was going to the palace. Leah slumped against the newly shut door. Her hands rose to her chest to slow her racing heart. She was too excited to be angry. She could see it all now. She would wear her new emerald gown, the one that was slashed with the palest of green silk, and embroidered with tiny flowers across the neck and down the sleeves. The dress was cut lower than she liked, showing quite a bit of pale flesh. But the fact was that all of the dresses were cut like that. Yet another of Lan's suggestions. As if an Aes Sedai would wear a garment of that cut.  
  
She rushed quickly to the dresser to check on the condition of her gown. Every inch was perfectly pressed, just as she had left it. Her hands moved over the hems and seams, making sure that there were no loose threads to be trimmed. After she completed this task she was too excited to return to her reading.  
  
She undid the buttons of her plane, but well cut grey dress, and quickly traded it for the green one. She redid her braid, this time much tighter, making sure every strand was in place. She sat down before the mirror on the dressing table. She rummaged through the small oak box that held her meager jewelry collection. Settling on an emerald pendant, she hooked the clasp of the fragile gold chain behind her neck. She stood slowly, preening before the mirror, memorizing every detail. She was going to the palace. Everything had to be perfect. She was so caught up in her preparations she nearly missed the knock at the door.  
  
Forcing herself to return to the present, she grudgingly answered the door. This time it was Lan who stood before her. His dark hair pulled back with the braided leather cord he always wore above his temples was wet, and it came to Leah's attention that the threatening storm must have broken.  
  
Lan openly stared for a moment. His eyes started at her pale green slippers peaking out from under the hem of her gown, up the layers of silk, to the thick braid hanging over her shoulder. "I see that you have heard of tomorrow's excursion."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" Leah asked a bit breathlessly. "I will hardly be prepared as it is. There is so much that I need to do. I need to bathe, and have my dress pressed, and about a million other things." It all came out in a rush.  
  
Lan interrupted her rambling. "The carriage leaves first thing in the morning. You will be ready." Leah nodded to the last, although it was a statement, no a question. "You will wear the yellow gown with.."  
  
"I had intended to wear what I have on." Leah said, raising her voice. Her hands once again balled into fists at her sides.  
  
"You will wear the yellow gown with the red flowers. You will not speak to anyone." Leah opened her mouth to argue, but Lan merely continued on. "I will inform the guards that Nynaeve Sedai of the Yellow Ajah wishes to see the Dragon Reborn. I will then..." Lan continued on that way for quite a while longer. Leah pressed her lips together until they were white from lack of blood, and her nails dug into her palms as her anger rose.  
  
Early the next morning the streets of Caemlyn were coming alive. A matching pair of chestnut mares pawed at the earth as they patiently waited to be harnessed to the carriage. Leah walked slowly down the stairs, very slowly. Lan gave her an annoyed look out of the corner of his eye. She gathered up her skirts carefully before climbing into the open door of the carriage (her yellow skirts), and sat stiffly beside the window on the far wall. Lan was seated across from her. The limited space ensured that their knees touched every time a rock or rut caused a jolt. She raised her chin defiantly and watched the city pass before her. I will not let this man ruin this day for me! She thought furiously. I am going to the palace!  
  
Leah gripped her skirts until her knuckles were white from the effort, not only by her anger now. Winter had come crashing down on Camelyn like an avalanche and the thick curtains were not enough to keep the chill from the small cabin. Leah's breath misted before her lips. Her hood was thrown back as if to mock the cold. She was Aes Sedai and the temperature meant nothing to her. She ground her teeth to prevent them from chattering.  
  
The palace gates loomed up before the carriage, steel and stone wrought by expert craftsmen to turn the swords of armies. Leah had seen it all before, but it was different now. It had always seemed so formidable and impenetrable. Now, in her silk gown, with the golden serpent wrapped snuggly around her right index finger, the palace seemed inviting.  
  
The rhythmic clacking of the horses' hooves on the paving stones halted, and Leah could hear muffled voices from the front of the carriage.  
  
"State your name and purpose of visit." The first voice called out. The driver, who had merely been told to head for the palace managed to stammer something to that effect, and quick footsteps soon brought a guard to the window closest to Leah.  
  
The guardsmen appeared to be no more than fifteen although he was most likely older. He looked awkward in his uniform and he tugged at his sword as if unsure of its purpose. He stared at her with his large blue eyes, and when the wind ruffled his sand colored hair, Leah was reminded of her youngest brother Jamis. This feeling was so strong that she bit the inside of her lower lip to force back the threatening smile. I will not let him ruin this!  
  
"Tell the Lord Dragon that Nynaeve al'Meara is here to speak with him." There was no mention of Ajah, no honorific behind the name, but a slight wave of her right hand caused the guard to bow deeply before he quickly signaled the others to let the though. Lan's eyebrow arched, but he made no move to challenge her. Moments later the carriage once again lurched back to life, carrying Leah through the gates, into the palace.  
  
Lan shifted unconsciously as the carriage lurched forward. His face was all stony planes, revealing nothing. All of the pieces had been set on the board. He had made the first move, now all he could do was wait. 


	7. Revelations

I keep alternating between not knowing what to put on paper, and feeling rushed to get it all down. I apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors as this was written in a rush. The next two chapters should be up soon.  
  
Malarkay: I completely agree with what you said about Lan in chapter 1. This is my first fanfic, and I think that I bit off more than I could chew by choosing Lan as one of my main characters. If you have any suggestions for a possible rewrite I would be appreciative. Sometimes constructive criticism is more helpful than praise.  
  
Watcher Tale Neith: Thank you for consistently reviewing. I appreciate the feedback. Sorry if this chapter isn't what you were anticipating.  
  
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The sun had long passed it zenith when Leah shoved the door to her room at the Horse and Buggy open. "Mother's milk in a cup!" Leah practically spat as she stormed into the room. "I'm sorry Aes Sedai. Only a few more stairs Aes Sedai." Leah said in a high mocking tone. "I always wanted to see the palace, but not in one day. I must have climbed every step in the building." Leah flung herself onto the bed, pulling off her right slipper and rubbing the sole of her foot fiercely.  
  
Lan sauntered into the room behind her, the latch of the door clicking softly behind him. Nothing about his face changed, but Leah had the distinct impression that he was hiding a smile. She grabbed a pillow from behind her and hurled it at the Warder. The slightest shift of his knees caused the pillow to sail past his head, inches off its mark.  
  
"And you....You frustrating, exasperating....You...You man!" Somehow she managed to make the last as much an insult as the others. "You knew all along that the Lord Dragon was not in the palace!"  
  
"How could I have known when even the palace servants were unsure?" And there it was again, that look of a hidden smile. Leah seriously considered throwing her remaining slipper at the man but decided that it would do no good. The servants had repeatedly apologized for their extended tour. They had explained that the Lord Dragon often just "appeared" in the palace, and would be gone just as quickly. They were never sure if he was there or not. The only way to be positive was to check.  
  
"Why?" She asked, pulling her left slipper off.  
  
"I am not sure that I understand the question." Lan replied his voice flat and level. Leah felt her teeth grate before she could stop it. Her fists were clenched so tightly she thought her nails would soon draw blood.  
  
"Why? Why all of this? You take me to the palace to see the Dragon when you know very well that he is not there. You force me to wear this, this dress," Leah's mouth twisted around the word "and order me to remain silent, but when I spoke you seemed almost pleased. You and I, we play these games, only no one has told me the rules. I want answers al' Lan Mandragoran!"  
  
"Do you now?" Lan replied, slightly raising an eyebrow. "The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills." This time Leah did throw her shoe. Lan smiled openly now, if it could rightfully be called a smile. It was the slightest curving of the lips. "You are a strong woman, but you often falter, allowing yourself to be led. Only do you truly trust yourself when you're seething."  
  
"All of this was to make me angry?" She made a gesture with her arms that took in her apparel. Leah wished she hadn't let her other shoe drop to the floor.  
  
"Nynaeve would never let another speak for her. She would never show that the palace intimidated her. I had to be sure."  
  
"This was all a test?" The anger had left her voice, but her tone still hinted at vexation. "But then why the palace? Why now?"  
  
"How many servants and guards saw us today? Fifty? One hundred? More? How many tongues did we set wagging? Do you think that all eyes upon you today were friendly?"  
  
Leah's shoulders sagged visibly as the last of the anger drained from her body. She had never thought of the situation in those terms. She had never thought. She allowed herself to be tricked into behaving as he had wished, and all without thought. She could have kicked herself. Now her mind worked rapidly, doing sums she should have done last night, factoring in the new information.  
  
"You never intended for me to meet him did you?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Who do you think? Rand al' Thor, the Dragon Reborn. You told me once that I was not intended to fool those she knew, and she was his Wisdom. You never intended for him to meet me."  
  
"No. I did not." She nodded slightly, new pieces to the puzzle falling in place.  
  
"I was not designed to fool those she knew, and yet you drill me every day. Not just questions anymore but corrections on the most minute of details. Who notices that a person always crosses their legs right over left, but their hands left over right? Who cares that each bite of lamb, but no other meat is chewed exactly ten times? Who notices that wine is only drank, after the liquid has been swirled three times counterclockwise?" Her voice had grown softer as she continued, by the end speaking only to herself.  
  
"The Light blind me! I am such a fool. How could I not have seen this before?" Leah actually laughed allowed as the last of the pieces fit into the puzzle. "You love her." Her voice was touched with awe. "Do you not?"  
  
"It is late, and you must be tired." was Lan's emotionless response as he turned towards the door reaching for the handle. Leah was sure however, that his cold blue eyes which so often reminded her of ice, had melted for an instant.  
  
"I can never be her. You know that." Lan did not reply. He stood as if frozen in place, his hand midair, open and reaching for the handle.  
  
"That blade, the one that you carry at your waist, do you know how to use it?" His abrupt change in subject startled Leah and her hand strayed to her abdomen before she responded.  
  
"Not well. I know only what I have learned from my father, and that was for farm work, not...." She let her voice fade off, fingering the cold steel.  
  
"We will begin lessons tomorrow. We have entered dangerous new territory. I would not have you tread these paths blindly." He turned the door handle, in one motion he opened the door, extricated himself from the room, and again shut the door tightly behind himself, leaving Leah to sit in silence, pondering the day's events.  
  
Lan strode purposefully down the hall, wanting to put yet another closed door between he and the girl, but the innkeepers rosy cheeks and ready smile came into view as the older man bounded up the stairs.  
  
"I am sorry to bother you Master Andra." The man said a bit breathlessly, as if the jaunt up the stairs had robbed him of his air. "I trust that your visit to the palace went well." He only continued on once satisfied that Lan's nod was the only response that he intended to give. "A man delivered a message for you earlier this afternoon. He said that it was urgent. I wanted to see that it was delivered personally." Lan accepted the envelope from the older gentleman and handed him several shillings before muttering words of thanks.  
  
Lan waited until his own door was latched firmly behind him before inspecting the letter. The cardstock was heavy, and of obvious quality. It was dark ivory, the color of aged and weathered bones. There was no name on the front. The only marking the blood red wax seal on the back. The wax had been imprinted with a signet ring. A serpent, but very unlike the ring that now occupied Leah's belt pouch. Its sinuous form seemed threatening. Its open mouth revealed teeth as sharp as any sword  
  
Lan opened the letter carefully, using a small knife to lift the wax, preserving the image.  
  
The script was small and tight, but jutted out at irregular intervals.  
  
I know what it is that you do. If you have any wish of succeeding, meet me at the west gate at dusk.  
  
I know what it is that you do. The words seemed to scream at him. Someone knew, or thought they knew. His eyes jerked towards the window and the setting sun. Meet me at the west gate at dusk. He smelled a trap so strongly that he was sure that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. But did he dare risk not showing? No time. Things were moving too quickly.  
  
Lan's hand was on the doorknob before he even realized what he was doing. His breathing was regular and his pulse steady, the fear was there. He did not fear death, he welcomed it. But not yet. Not before Moghedien's blood was spilled. Mandarb was hurriedly saddled, and Lan rode off as the sun collapsed behind the forest. 


	8. The Weight of a Promise

I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Finals, graduation, and vacation all took away from my play time. Not to mention that I had more trouble than expected with this chapter. Men, pah! I promise, I am making headway on the next chapter.  
  
Thanks to Malarkay for trudging through my rough draft, and nudging me, sometimes rather hard, into the right direction. ;) Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
  
Also, thanks to those who reviewed. Watcher Tale Neith, although I am not quite sure whether you liked the chapter or not (sarcasm is lost on me in this forum) I always appreciate your input. Spacing Out, I am a sucker for a compliment, thank you.

I almost forgot. I did _borrow_ a thought from Moghedien. I liked it, and I thought that it fit nicely to Lan as he surely would have made the same observation.

...........................................................................................................  
  
Lan reigned Mandarb in short of the west gate. He tied the horse to a post, and had hardly moved before he was lost to the darkness, just one more shadow along the walls. He became the shadow, losing all tangibility.  
  
There was a trap waiting for him, he could feel it. He moved from street to street, scanning every window, every ledge for signs of a threat.  
  
The sun dipped lower, lighting the trees aflame as the red and orange rays danced across the bare branches, the deepening darkness taunting Lan, reminding him of the growing urgency. No time.  
  
He continued his search, eyes piercing the darkness, ears straining for any noise.  
  
Dusk did not settle over the land. It seemed to sag, drooping into place, claiming the land in fractions. Lan slipped soundlessly towards the gate, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His breathing and heartbeat were slow and regular. He was not afraid. He was ready.  
  
The mist seemed to solidify before him as a lone figure stepped out of the shadows. Dressed all in black, the man was a part of the darkness. He wore it as a cloak. Yet Lan knew him for a man, not a Myrddraal; his cloak flapped faintly behind him in the evening breeze.  
  
"Come, Warder." The voice called. It was a deep voice, firm and commanding. "There is no need to hide." Lan did not rise to the taunting. He was no hot-headed young man. His feet remained firmly planted, his hand still gripping his sword hilt. "I am very much alone, I assure you." The voice was not only commanding, but arrogant as well. "Will you not come out, or must I talk to myself all night?" Cocky, and arrogant, and was it touched with amusement as well?  
  
"Do you truly think to hide from me al'Lan Mandoragan?" Hard as steel, his tone was cruel and mocking now. As he spoke, he turned, staring straight into the fog that consumed Lan. Lan felt the stranger's eyes bore through him. His hiding place compromised, Lan stepped into the open.  
  
The young man was tall, nearly as tall as the al'Thor boy, with shoulders more broad, yet not nearly as broad as Lan's. The faint light hid the finer details of his face, though a strong chin was clearly evident. Lan thought him to be young, not far past twenty.  
  
"Ahh," the man said, the amusement back in his voice. "Is this not better?"  
  
"Who are you, and why do you summon me?" Lan asked, his voice reminiscent of the air, just before a storm broke, eerily quiet yet so electrically charged that it was palpable.  
  
"Must we remain here? The air has teeth tonight." was the stranger's distracted reply. His tone did nothing to ease the tension. Lan did not relax. Distraction is easily feigned.  
  
The sky seemed to rip before him. At first it was only a small hole, but the hole quickly rotated, elongating rapidly, spilling light into the courtyard. The gateway opened into a wood-paneled room, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Carpets of red and gold lined the floor. The furniture was heavy and squat, but lined with gold inlay.  
  
Before the gateway had finished expanding, Lan's sword had left his scabbard. The man could channel. Be he Asha'man or Forsaken, Lan did not plan to be caught unarmed.  
  
Before he had taken his second step Lan felt the air thicken around him. He could no more have taken another step than he could have stood on his head; which incidentally, happened to be the only part of his body that he could move.  
  
"Oh come now," he spoke as if to a small child who had tracked mud on the freshly cleaned floors; a nuisance, and a small one at that. Lan could see his teeth glowing white in the pale moonlight. "There is no need for violence. I come to offer you your greatest desires."  
  
Lan forced down the low growl that was rising in the back of his throat. "What do you know of my wishes? There is nothing for you to know."  
  
"I know that the girl you parade around beside you is no more Aes Sedai than I am." The stranger's smile seemed to grow more if that was possible. "Now will you follow me willingly, or must I drag you behind?" Lan nodded his head slightly, and he felt his prison liquefy. "I would suggest you put that sword away." The stranger pronounced sword in the same way he would toy.  
  
Lan sheathed his sword, albeit rather forcefully, before stepping through the gateway. Once the stranger had passed through, the gateway vanished. Lan fought the urge to rest his hand on his sword hilt. The blade would do no good here.  
  
"Who are you, and why do you summon me?" Lan asked coldly.  
  
The stranger settled into a large dark colored chair across from Lan, propping his foot up on the highly polished mahogany table. "You may call me Moridin." The stranger said. His tone and posture were designed to imply disinterest, but his brilliant blue eyes focused on Lan intently. Lan did not flinch under that gaze. Any fool could name himself Death. "And as for your summons, you must know."  
  
Lan's face remained expressionless. He would not risk letting this man confirm any of his suspicions. "You claimed my companion to be false. You are mistaken."  
  
Moridin smiled, but there was nothing friendly in his expression. "I know that Nynaeve al'Meara is dead. I know that you hunt Moghedien. I can give her to you." These words, delivered so calmly, struck Lan like a blow. He felt winded, as if his lungs were gripped in a vise. He was a Warder, and a Borderlander as well. He made no indication of his shock.  
  
"As I said before, you are mistaken." Lan leaned casually against the hearth, but there was nothing casual about him.  
  
Moridin loosened the laces of his shirt, reaching underneath. "Do you know what this is?" He removed a small golden cage woven of fine golden threads. Amidst those wires, a blood-red crystal was nestled. Moridin stroked the pendant tenderly between his thumb and index finger, and Lan thought he saw a faint trail of smoke wind its way through the inner surface of the gem.  
  
When Lan made no indication of speaking, the younger man again took the lead. "It is called a cour'souvra, a mindtrap. You may think of Moghedien as...my pet." Moridin gave Lan a decidedly wicked grin. "You seek revenge on one of the Forsaken, and yet the only weapon you carry is bound at your hip. How did you expect to win?" At this he laughed, a deep, hearty laugh.  
  
Lan's mind reeled. This man claimed to own one of the Forsaken. What type of man could actually own one of the Shadowsouled? He maintained a carefully neutral expression. "I make no admission." Lan said calmly, "if you could truly deliver Moghedien to me, what is the benefit to you?"  
  
"Moghedien is a valuable asset." Moridin spoke as if he were describing a desk or at best a well-bred horse. "But recently, she has suffered a rather humiliating fall from grace. There are others that my Master prizes above her."  
  
Rand al'Thor. Lan knew it before the man spoke the name. The Dragon Reborn, fated to fight the Dark Lord in the Last Battle. This man wanted Lan to lead Rand to his slaughter.  
  
"And if I refuse?"  
  
There was no tearing of the room, no gateway leading to another locale. The air shimmered, and before him stood Nynaeve. She wore a gown of green silk, the skirts slashed with yellow. Golden embroidery decorated the sleeves and bodice. Her hair was pulled back in a single thick braid, yellow opal pins piercing the plait. She was dressed just as she had been that day on the river.  
  
"No!" Lan's voice was harsher than he intended. "Nynaeve al'Meara walked in the Light. You have no power over her."  
  
"The Lord of the Grave grows stronger." Moridin seemed to hiss the words. Nynaeve gazed at Lan pleadingly, her brown eyes fixing him in place. "She belongs to Him now. But things can change. She can be given flesh anew. She can be yours again."  
  
Realization seemed to strike home as Nynaeve's gaze firmed. "Lan no. The price is too..." Her plea was cut off as a scream was ripped from her throat. Her body writhed at impossible angles. Lan tried to cross the room to her, but found the air had once again thickened around him.  
  
"Your refusal guarantees an eternity of torment for the girl." Moridin needed to raise his voice to be heard above Nynaeve's cries of anguish. Her hands grasped at her body, and Lan wondered that her skin did not tear, she screamed so. "Think hard before you decide. Rand al'Thor, or Nynaeve al'Meara. You can save only one." As rapidly as she had appeared, Nynaeve was gone. The ensuing silence was deafening.  
  
"I will not give you long to decide. My Master grows impatient. I will be in contact soon. Choose wisely."  
  
With Moridin's parting words fresh in his ears Lan stumbled through the newly opened gateway back into the streets of Caemlyn. His feet were heavy in his boots, his heart leaden in his chest. He had promised Nynaeve that he would keep her safe. It was a promise that he had been unable to fulfill. Now he was given a second chance. Nynaeve's shrieks dogged his steps all of the way back to the Horse and Buggy. 


	9. Sharpening the Blade

Author's notes: I apologize to everyone who has been waiting for me to update. The truth is that I hit a mental wall. I knew exactly where I wanted to go with this story when I began, but the story seems to have other ideas. Anyway, I wound up with no idea where I wanted to go from here. I am still not sure that I like the path that I have decided on. Oh well. Only time will tell. As I am not dead sent on the outcome, I am open to any suggestions.

I also apologize for any typos. I was frustrated with this chapter to the point that I was sick of looking at it.

Hugs and kisses.

Niobium

"Teeth of an Aiel." Leah cursed as the small knife clattered to the floor. She brought her bloodied hand to her lips, nursing her wounded finger, as well as her bruised ego.

Her eyes darted to the man seated by the window, waiting for the reprisal. Nynaeve al'Meara did not swear. Of course, Nynaeve al'Meara had not just sliced open her hand for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Her hands ached, her skin raw and red, scratches and gashes decorating her palms like red lace. Leah firmly believed that she deserved a little forgiveness for her slip. She had after all been restraining herself all day. Prior to her intensive training in the intricacies that were Miss al'Meara, Leah would have resorted to the use of profanity much sooner.

When the rebuke that she was expecting appeared not to be forthcoming she let her gaze settle on her companion. He looked tired. This man normally radiated tightly restrained danger. He was always in control. But not today. Today he looked haggard, his eyes shadowed, a stark contrast to his too pale skin.

Lan, noticing her intense scrutiny arched an eyebrow in displeasure. Leah tore her eyes away from her previous inspection and quickly busied herself by gathering the knives that now littered the floor hoping to hide the blush that had involuntarily colored her cheeks.

"Could I not try my hands with the sword? Would that not be easier?" She asked. She cringed inwardly as the request sounded whiny even to her own ears. Of course she had known the answer to this question even before she spoke the words. Aes Sedai did not carry swords and neither would she.

"Perhaps you would prefer throwing pillows, or slippers to knives?" The Warder asked in turn. Leah paused in the act of collecting a fallen blade. She tried to push down the anger that was threatening to surface.

"You are very brave for an unarmed man." Leah replied, toying with the small knife, flipping it nimbly between her fingers. That at least she had accomplished early on.

Lan snorted in response. "It appears," he said, taking in the room, "that the safest place for me to be is the target."

Leah gave her braid a fierce tug before she too looked around. Lan had provided a makeshift target, composed of boards scavenged from the Creator alone knows where. There were several large nicks carved out in it that Leah was very proud of.

Beside the target in the boards that made up the far wall were many more gouges. A scattering of brilliant blue glass lined the floor where Leah had accidentally disposed of the carafe that had held the morning wine. The curtains had several new slashes, the smallest of which was at least three fingers width. She silently began tallying damages due to the innkeeper.

The harsh words that had been forming on her lips were quickly bitten back, and a large smile soon covered her face. Laughing heartily, she replied "It does appear that way, does it not? Again then?"

"Again."

Leah resumed her collection of the small silver blades, hiding them in the folds of her plain grey dress.

Lan had arrived early that morning, looking if possible, grimmer, and more determined. The beginnings of dark circles were visible beneath his eyes, eyes which looked not only pained but haunted. He carried with him a small oak box, polished to a shine. Inside, nestled in a bed of ruby satin, lay four silver daggers.

Leah had been afraid at first. Lan had always been a harsh task-master, demanding nothing less than perfection. What would this new assignment bring?

But her tutor had seemed distracted, even disinterested at times. He positioned himself before the window, staring at some imaginary point on the horizon, failing to notice or care when a rogue knife would sail auspiciously close to his head.

And then something would bring him back, dragging him from his reverie. At those times he would patiently instruct, attuned to the finest detail. Occasionally he would even joke. His sense of humor was as dry as the Waste in summer, but pleasant still the same.

"Smooth." He had said. "Speed will come later. For now, technique is what matters."

Leah began to make progress slowly. By twilight, nearly every throw struck its mark (though few were firmly lodged). The knives were to be a weapon of last resort. Aes Sedai did not carry knives anymore than they did swords. They were to remain concealed within the yards of material that made up her dress. Only in the most dire of circumstances would the knives appear, flying surely and deftly from her hands (or so Lan had assured her they would after more practice).

The last of the four knives hit the center of the target, slicing into the wood as it struck true. The corners of her lips twitched upwards in a small smile. She allowed herself to take pride in her skill, enjoying the way that the candlelight flickered of the lustrous steel, surreptitiously ignoring the three blades that lay on the floorboards.

She wrung her hands unconsciously, her thumbs massaging the tender flesh. While it had been several hours since she had last cut herself with the daggers, the lacerations remained, marring her smooth skin. The pain had not receded completely, but had instead transformed to a dull ache. Leah forced the throbbing to the back of her mind, and reminded herself to concentrate. Yet her ministrations did not go unnoticed by the steel grey eyes that were intently observing her.

"I believe that I should take my leave. You have done well." Lan said as he uncoiled himself from his chair, as sinuous as a snake. Leah cursed the man's grace. If she had been lounging in a hard straight-backed chair all day she knew that she would have more closely resembled a decrepit old woman than a languid jungle cat.

Leah nodded, thankful for the reprieve. She escorted him silently to the door, suddenly aware of how tired she was. Untrained muscles screamed at her for the day's misuse. Clenching her fingers around the brass knob seemed almost too much to bear.

As the door clicked shut on the Warder's heels, Leah allowed her shoulders to slump. Her head lulled forward, her chin nearly resting on her chest. Her fingers resumed massaging her tender skin.

"I will take care of the candles but the remaining mess will wait until morning. Which of course will be arriving all too soon." She unhappily reminded herself.

She reached her hands up behind her neck her fingers carefully settling on the first of the many small pearl buttons lining the back of her gown. Her skin tightened across her knuckles causing her to grimace in discomfort. "I suppose changing will have to wait for morning as well." She sighed, dropping her hands to her side.

After blowing out the candles casting the room in total darkness, Leah dragged her fully clothed body onto the bed, not bothering to first pull back the covers. Her eyes slid shut before her head had hit the pillow.

A knock at the door brought a rather vulgar curse to her lips.

She threw her legs off the side of the bed allowing the momentum to help carry her to her feet. In four brisk strides she was across the room, her anger radiating off her in waves. She unlatched the bolt swiftly, and threw the door open, allowing the light from the hallway to spill into her darkened quarters.

Lan stood before her, a matching look of fury etched on his features. He grasped her forearm firmly. Leah let out a gasp of surprise as he roughly pushed her into the room, slamming the door behind her. Her breathing and heartbeat quickened, her rage instantly dissipating as she realized that she was now trapped in a very dark room with an equally dangerous man.

"Don't you ever, ever open the door without first knowing who is on the other side." His voice was low, the effect more frightening than if he had yelled.

"Yes....yes sir." Leah stammered only realizing that she had been backing away as the back of her thighs came into contact with the bed.

The room was suddenly bathed in light. Lan had not been advancing on her as she had imagined. Instead he had silently maneuvered across the room where he was now relighting the previously extinguished candles. A green enamel bowl sat beside him on the table, and in her heightened state of alertness Leah had noted that it had not been there previously.

Lan spun on his heels, his hardened gaze pining her where she was. "I had thought that I had managed to stress the danger of our situation. I thought that you were aware of what was at risk"

Leah cringed under his sudden scrutiny. "I am sorry, I just wasn't thinking. I am sorry."

Lan nodded at this but Leah noticed that nothing about him softened. He grabbed the bowl from its spot on the table and crossed the room. He thrust the bowl into her hands. "Here."

Leah noted with some surprise that the bowl was filled with freshly collected snow. "For your hands." He replied in answer to her questioning look.

Leah gratefully buried her hands up to her wrists into the snow, letting the chill dull the pain in her aching appendages. She left them there until the last of the snowflakes had melted, only then reluctantly removing them from the tepid water. She dried them hastily on her rumpled skirt.

"Thank you." She said, struggling to meet his gaze. She wondered where this sudden shyness had come from.

"Better?" It was asked tersely, but not unkindly.

"Much." In a futile effort she smoothed her skirts. She told herself that this was NOT in an effort to avoid the Warder's intent gaze.

"But they still hurt." It was not a question but Leah nodded in response.

"Here." Leah suppressed a gasp as he took her right hand in his lightly calloused ones before resting it on his lap. He removed a small vial of yellow liquid from his inside pocket and quickly removed the lid. The sell of rosemary and thyme as well as several other herbs she could not place assaulted her nostrils. Lan poured a small amount of the liquid into his upturned palm before briskly rubbing his hands together. He again engulfed her smaller hand in his before massaging the fragrant smelling oil into her skin.

A moan escaped her lips as the pain was washed away. "It is a healing salve. I have told you that Nynaeve was her village's Wisdom before she became Aes Sedai." Leah forced herself to nod in recognition of his statement. The exhaustion that she had felt earlier was returning tenfold.

Lan began the process anew with her left hand. His fingers moved deftly across the skin, erasing the pain. She watched in fascination as the scratches seemed to fade away, as if they had never been. 'A very powerful healer indeed.' She thought to herself wryly.

He eased her fingers apart with his own taking time knead the tender skin there before returning to the back of her hands his thumb circling lazily across her palm. Her eyes drifted shut as her turned her palm heavenwards, tracing her lifeline as his fingers gently grazed her knuckles.

Her breathing slowed as she concentrated on his glorious hands. She was unaware that he could be so tender, so caring. She moaned again, this time in appreciation of his skill.

Lan jerked his hands away as if burned. Leah's eyes flew open but Lan was already on his feet.

"I must be going. It is late." He was at the door and opening it before Leah had time to process what was happening.

"I am sorry...I...is something wrong?" She managed at last to stutter out before he had exited the room.

Lan turned, his eyes once again like ice. "Nothing is wrong. I will return in the morning." And without giving her a chance to further question his abrupt departure he was gone, leaving a very confused young woman behind.


End file.
